Falling Asleep
by brazenbell
Summary: Puck likes to sleep naked, so this situation isn't new to him. Except.


Noah Puckerman likes to sleep naked.

Something about the way the delicate sheets slide against his calf muscles, the way the sweet, cool air from the window brushes his neck as he drifts off to sleep, is just reassuring. But that sounds super gay, so he usually just says he sleeps naked because pajamas are for pussies and there's no way he's wearing clothes to bed.

Anyway, Puck likes to sleep naked, and he likes to have sex. And he gets drunk a lot on the weekends. So when he wakes up in some strange bed, without clothes on, on a sunny Sunday morning, feeling satisfied and lazy, he just kind of shrugs it off and tries to drift back to sleep, because it's frankly nothing new.

Then a hand creeps in out of nowhere trying to feel up his pecs, which is a little weird, but let's face it, Puck has some awesome guns, so he can't really blame whoever wants to touch his muscles. But – well – the hand isn't really… feminine. It's broad and flat and a little… callused, and to be honest Puck doesn't really mind because that rough skin gliding across his nipple and oh, those blunt, square nails, but still he can't get this niggling feeling out of the back of his head so he turns his head a little and:

"Jesus Christ, Finn, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Finn rocks his head sleepily and opens his eyes. "Oh, hey, Puck."

"Dude, your hand is on my chest."

Finn blinks and sits up a little. He has to brace his hand against Puck's collarbone, which makes Puck's vertebrae quiver. "Oh, would you look at that."

"Dude," Puck says again. "Quit feeling me up, I don't bat for this team."

"Sorry," Finn answers, making no move to shift his hand. "I thought you were Quinn."

Puck frowns angrily, offended. "Wait. You thought I had boobs?"

Finn thinks about it for a minute. "No," he replies finally, "I guess not."

They get out of bed and get dressed and go. Neither of them tries to talk about what might have happened last night, and Puck is a little freaked out that he woke up naked in bed with his best (male) friend, but he's not totally sure he wants to know. So later he calls up Finn and they play some Halo and watch a zombie movie, and everything's like it always was, so he figures that nothing happened after all. Maybe he got wasted at a party last night and Finn brought him home so he wouldn't get in trouble with his mom and took off his clothes for him because he knows Puck likes to sleep naked, and, well, Finn just had to sleep in the same bed because he only has one, and sure, he's a gentleman, but that whole you-take-the-bed-I'll-take-the-chair thing really only works with women, not other guys. Yeah. That's probably what happened.

Puck wonders absently how Finn would know that he likes to sleep without clothes on, but he lets it go.

* * *

On Monday, Mike comes up to him asking about Santana's Saturday-night party.

"What?" Puck responds. He doesn't look at Mike; he's too cool to look people in the eye when he's speaking to them. He prefers to remain aloof. (_Aloof_: a word he picked up from Rachel Berry. Dammit.) "Oh, yeah, it was pretty crazy."

"I heard that Samantha wound up puking into the rhododendrons and fucking Jeff in San's bedroom," Mike says wistfully.

Puck nods, very manly-like. "Well, you know the kind of stuff that happens at Santana's house. You should've been there."

"Yeah, too bad. Did you get with Vicky?"

"Vicky who?" Puck begins to say, but then he remembers telling Mike – in great detail – about how he was going to try and hook up with Vicky Winchester, the redheaded sophomore bombshell, that night. "Ah, no. I got… sidetracked. Like, drunk sidetracked. Very drunk. Shit happens."

"Damn, Puck, you've gotta watch your alcohol convention." Mike slaps him jokingly on the back.

_Consumption_. "Yeah, man, you're telling me."

* * *

Santana informs him flatly that he had shown up to the party around eight-thirty and immediately started throwing back shots. Turns out he had hooked up with Vicky Winchester – she'd been all over him, "and honestly, you guys could've taken it upstairs, you didn't need to rip her clothes off in my living room," Santana adds disgustedly. But at some point Puck had gotten up and staggered out, and Finn had followed him, and then neither of them had come back.

"Was he drunk?"

"Don't be stupid. You know as well as I do that Finn doesn't drink. You know, 'Quinn doesn't like it because of her family.'"

Puck tries not to think about the irony there. "Oh. So where did we go?"

"You'd know better than me." Santana's getting that glint in her eye, the terrifying one that makes Puck want to screw her senseless and cry like a little baby at the same time. "Why? Did something happen?"

"No. God, Santana. What do you mean, did something happen?"

Santana just raises an eyebrow at him. She's not stupid.

* * *

The subject doesn't come up again – at least, not for a few months. Puck notices that Finn's been coming to a lot of parties these days, which is weird because Finn's not really a party boy. Maybe he's just there to watch Puck's back. But Puck doesn't go out of control much these days, so there really isn't much for Finn to do.

Puck's coming out of the nurse's office after his daily third-period nap when Santana strides up to him and places her palm flat on his chest. "Look, you bastard, we've got a problem."

"Just one?" Puck snarks, but Santana snaps her razor-sharp black nails in front of his face and announces,

"I can't have you dragging Finn to all my parties, you dumbass. He doesn't drink, and you don't show up to one of _my_ parties and not drink. It just… It's ruining my rep, you know? Next thing you know I'll be babysitting kindergarteners at the church on Sundays and helping Brittany with her math homework, and hell if I am going to waste any of my precious fucking time trying to convince the dumb bitch that two plus two doesn't equal rainbows."

Puck tries to picture Santana as a babysitter and nearly shrivels, but instead he retorts, "Hey, I don't bring Finn. He just kind of… shows up."

Santana snorts. "Yeah, right. He only comes to the parties you go to. Not even just at my house, either. Matt's, Mike's, Pat's, Xavier's, Lisa's…"

"Okay, okay," Puck interrupts hastily. "I'll talk to him about it."

That's when the freaky glimmer appears in Santana's eyes again, and she says coolly, "Or you could just get him to drink. I mean, then it wouldn't be a problem."

Well, normally Puck would say no. Finn's a good guy and his best friend, and if Finn doesn't want to drink, then Puck's not going to be the one to push him. But then he thinks it might be a good idea. "I guess he could use some loosening up," Puck muses thoughtfully, but casually, like he's not really considering it.

Santana bares her left eyetooth in a thin-lipped smile. "And don't you want to know what Finn's like when he's drunk?"

Well, yes, as a matter of fact. Puck wants to know very much.

* * *

So the next time Finn follows him to a party, Puck goes up to him and says manfully, "Come on, man, we're doing shots."

Finn opens his eyes wide. "Oh, nah, sorry. I don't think I'm going to drink tonight."

Puck glances at the red Solo cup in Finn's tightly clenched hand. "Is that water?"

"I… Yeah."

"Come on," Puck says impatiently, grabbing a shot glass and a bottle of Smirnoff. "Stop being a pussy and just do a shot. You're not gonna get drunk off one shot." He pours it to the brim and hands it over. With a wavering hand and hesitant glance into Puck's face, Finn sets his water down gently and knocks the shot back.

A couple of the hockey guys pass by to grab some more cups from the kitchen. On the way back Jeffrey catches the shot glass in Finn's hand and squeals, "Yeah, check it out, Finn's gettin' tipsy!"

"Oh, no," Finn says with a self-deprecating chuckle. "It was just one."

"Yeah, well, you're such a lightweight I bet that's all it takes."

"He's not a lightweight," Puck argues roughly, pouring some more vodka. "Go on, Finn."

"I really don't think –"

"_Finn_."

Finn downs the shot. And another. Then he plays two games of beer pong, solo, and loses them both. At the end of the second game he knocks over a ceramic lamp. Puck's stomach jumps.

"Come on, man," he declares, wrapping his arm around the other boy's throat. "I'm gonna teach you how to shotgun a beer."

"Wha?"

"We have to go outside so it doesn't spill. Come on."

"I think I'm kinda drunk," Finn mumbles, grinding his fingers into Puck's waistband for support. Now they're outside and falling into the cool grass. The lawn is miraculously empty. "Are we shotgunning yet?"

"No."

"Mmm," Finn groans, and in the completely untransitioned way of the seriously buzzed, he digs his nails into Puck's shoulders and pulls him on top of him and kisses him hard.

Puck, equally drunk of course, kisses him back. Fuck. This feels good.

An hour later he stumbles to his feet and tries to haul Finn to a standing position, but it's no good; he's completely wasted. In his head Puck tries to tally how much the other boy drank. Three shots and at least four beers, probably more, over the course of an hour, and quite possibly his first time drinking. No wonder.

He staggers inside. Most everybody is passed out, hooking up, or gone by now, except Santana, who is sitting cross-legged on the sofa, stroking Brittany's hair. She arches an eyebrow. "Have fun?"

"I need some water," Puck rasps.

"What for?"

"Because I'm fuckin' drunk, that's what for. I'm tryna sober up."

Santana actually cackles. "You're not drunk, moron. You haven't touched a drop all night."

Puck stops. "Yes I have, I…"

Shit.

"You're stone-cold sober," Santana deadpans.

Shit.

"You just fucked Finn sober. Didn't you."

Shitshitshitshitshit.

Puck just blinks at Santana, a deer in the headlights. Eventually she shrugs, covers Brittany with a blanket, and goes upstairs to bed. Puck goes into the kitchen, gets his water, and then goes back outside. He forces Finn awake and they lurch to Puck's house, where Puck removes both their clothes and falls asleep with Finn's hot mouth in the hollow of his collarbone. It isn't like he has anything else to do.


End file.
